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Wondering
 
V.
Hair smells of coconut.
Greaze legs with lotion, 
 
scrub face with Irish Spring, 
wear Chris Farley tee shirt to bed 
 
& wonder if you think of me as you
smoke weed from a fiber glass bong.
 
Scribble poems in your journal.  
Suffocate  cigarette 
 
into half-eaten slices of toast
you didn't want, 
 
but came with the Glam-Slam breakfast anyway,
that sat dormant,
 
sandwiched, between the knife 
& fork stained with syrup,
 
in a plate next to the green ashtray 
you claim you didn't see.

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